


Loud and Clear

by Rehearsal_Dweller



Series: For Even a Day [2]
Category: Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: M/M, Royalty AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-16
Updated: 2020-04-16
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:15:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23685262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rehearsal_Dweller/pseuds/Rehearsal_Dweller
Summary: “I told you not to come."“I told you to stop doin’ stupid shit, sweetness, that doesn’t mean you listened."
Relationships: Racetrack Higgins & David Jacobs, Spot Conlon/Racetrack Higgins, background David Jacobs/Jack Kelly
Series: For Even a Day [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1705639
Comments: 14
Kudos: 102





	Loud and Clear

**Author's Note:**

> I asked what people wanted to see from me next and I ended up with an even 50-50 split between this and an extension of "I Never Planned." The INP sequel is in the works, and in the meantime here's some more royal!Sprace nonsense!  
> The original title for this was "facin' total disaster for certain" and then my plan for the story changed. I still wanted a line from Brooklyn's Here for the title, though, because this fic actually features Spot's sisters! And also some Davey angst because I have a brand to stick to, you know.  
> I now have vague ideas about another fic to go with this and "I Thought I Knew," so if that's something you'd like to see give me a shout!

_To my dearest, most darling dumbass,_

_Please, please tell me that the story I just read in Davey’s letter was made up. Race, love of my god damned life, please tell me that that didn’t happen._

_I cannot afford to spend a day coming all the way into the city to come check up on my stupid fiancé, only to find out nothing fucking happened. You are an unbelievably ridiculous person, but I cannot be expected to believe that you – even you – would go diving off a balcony on a dare. And if you did, sweetness, you’re lucky to be fucking alive and I might kill you myself when I get to you._

_Write me immediately, you fucker._

_Yours,_

_Spot_

“God, I love that man,” Race says. “Such a way with words. Always so sweet to me.”

Davey, who’d read Spot’s letter out loud to him, snorts. “Oh, yeah, so tender.”

“I dunno how that gal you’re seein’ talks to you, but that there’s the height of romance,” says Race.

“Oh, god, don’t remind me about her,” Davey replies. “I’m required to see her at least three more times before I’m allowed to reject her, even though she’s more interested in you than me. New rules from Mom and Dad.”

His hand falls on Race’s ankle, because his feet are resting in Davey’s lap. Race can’t see him, because his arms are flung over his face, but he knows from experience that, despite Davey’s light tone, his face has fallen. Davey and Sarah are in an odd, slightly precarious position. They’ve always been close to the princes, their parents are advisors to the queen, and that means people see them as a means to an end. Get with one of the Jacobs kids and you have a direct line to the royal family. They’re both very aware of this, and very protective of the Manhattan boys. Race has never known either of the twins to trust a romantic overture.

(This isn’t the only reason neither of them will choose someone to marry, but the other reason – they don’t speak about the other reason.)

But they’re getting older, and the pressure to consider someone – _anyone_ – is mounting. Sarah and Dave are both just shy of buckling under it.

“Sorry, Davey. I was only teasin’,” Race says. It’s quiet, genuine. He pokes the older man’s stomach with his toe. “’ey, you gonna help me write back to my man?”

“I was under the impression that was my job,” Davey replies, and Race can hear that he’s smiling again. “But there’ll be no lying to him; he knows my handwriting.”

“And mine,” Race says dismissively. “I wasn’t going to lie.”

“You always undersell your antics to Spot,” Davey teases. “You know he actually cares about you, but instead of not doing stupid things so you don’t scare him, you _lie_ about doing stupid things.”

“Yeah, and apparently you rat me out,” says Race. Davey laughs. “It’s not like I do the stupid stuff on purpose.”

“If you say so,” says Davey. “Alright, kiddo. Let’s write your sweetheart a letter.”

Race sits up a little, propping himself on his elbows. “You gotta promise to write what I actually say.”

“I will not take the heat for you underselling your injuries, Racer. I value my life.”

“Then I’ll have your sister help me.”

Davey frowns at him. “Sarah’s not going to give into your bad life choices either, little prince. Next time don’t bust your hands up and you can write whatever you want.”

“Fine,” says Race, flopping back onto the couch. He throws his arms back across his face – head injuries and illness always make his vision problems feel worse, but he’ll be damned if he starts wearing his glasses. He’d rather have the headaches and light sensitivity than look like that much of a dork. “You gotcha paper and pen ready?”

There’s a sliding sound as Davey pulls something across the small table. “Shoot.”

_Dear Spot,_

_I love you. I just wanted to open with that, because I felt like you needed a reminder before I respond to the rest of your letter. I love you, and you love me. Right?_

_As you may have noticed, Davey is writing out this letter for me. (Race tells me I’m supposed to “say hi” here, so hi Spot, I’m sorry – Dave) Unfortunately this is because I did, in fact, dive off the balcony of Jack and Kath’s suite. Fall off the balcony. I messed up my arms and hands catching myself on the tree outside, and hit my head a couple times on the way to the ground. Mama’s got Al – he’s the DaSilvas’ oldest, Davey says you know him – babysitting me, since he’s training to take over from his da as court doctor. So you don’t need to come into town, I promise. Between him and the twins I’m being very well looked after. Jack isn’t allowed to visit me right now, though, on account of him being the one who dared me to do it. But Katie and Charlie stop in as much as they can. They’re mighty busy right now. I’m supposed to be, too, but I can’t get anything done due to my “delicate condition.”_

_I’m looking forward to seeing you at the winter gala, but don’t feel like you need to rush into town because again I’m being well taken care of. I miss you._

_Yours,_

_Race_

_PS – this is Dave again, Race doesn’t know I added this because trying to read is still giving him headaches. In your next letter or visit, whichever comes first, please tell your boy to suck it up and wear his glasses. I’m getting tired of him complaining about something he can fix._

_\--_

“Letter from Race,” Niamh says, tossing it onto Spot’s desk. “That was unusually fast.”

“Yeah, well, ‘cording to David Jacobs, he did something super stupid, so I told him he oughtta write back fast or I’ll come into town myself and tell him off,” Spot replies absently. He picks the letter up, turning it over. “This ain’t Racer’s handwriting.”

“It says it’s from him,” his sister replies, shrugging. “And it was delivered by a royal courier. Don’t know what else to tell ya, Spotty.”

Spot opens the letter, which he can’t help noticing is in Dave’s neat hand, rather than Race’s barely legible scrawl. Honestly, how that man got through his proper, royal schooling with handwriting that terrible is a mystery.

“Fucking hell,” Spot says aloud as he reads. “Niamh, tell me why I’m marrying this dumbass?”

“Practicality,” Niamh replies. She flops into a chair across the desk from him. “Good for the family, good for the kingdom. Also, you keep saying you love him, which I can only assume is a factor.” She leans forward, elbows on the desk. “What did he do?”

“Took a dare that somehow ended with him jumping off a balcony and crashing through a tree,” Spot says. He sighs deeply, looking up at the ceiling of his study. “And apparently banged himself up so bad he can’t write his own letters, although Dave implied that that might also be because he hasn’t been wearing his glasses and reading is giving him headaches. I didn’t even know he _had_ glasses.”

“You didn’t know your fiancé wears glasses?”

“Apparently he doesn’t _wear_ them!”

Niamh laughs. “God, Sean, you are so far gone over this boy. You should see your face right now. Bet you’re already planning to up and leave and mother hen him in person.”

“I don’t mother hen,” Spot says, but he knows she’ll take it as a confirmation. He looks back at her, wrinkling his nose in frustration. “Can you handle things here if I go out there for a week?”

“I could handle things here if you left and never came back,” Niamh replies, waving a hand dismissively. “Go, take care of your prince. Just promise me one of these days I’ll actually get to meet him.”

Spot is on his feet in an instant, rounding the desk to kiss his sister on the cheek. “Before the wedding, I swear.”

“I’ll hold you to that!”

\--

“Where is he?”

Race curls in on himself when he hears Spot’s voice. Oh lord, he wasted _no_ time in getting here. Albert – who’s given Race the impression that he’s just a little bit afraid of Spot – points him in Race’s direction.

“I told you not to _come_ , Sean,” he whines.

“I told you to stop doin’ stupid shit, sweetness, that doesn’t mean you listened,” Spot replies. He sits down on the side of Race’s bed, a hand falling gently on Race’s back. It’s a sharp contrast to his harsh tone. “You gotta stop scaring me like this, Tony.”

“I didn’t do it to scare you,” says Race.

“Shit, love, I know that,” Spot says. “Doesn’t mean it didn’t happen.”

Race rolls toward him, bracing for the look on Spot’s face when he sees the greenish mostly healed bruising on Race’s face and arms. Sure enough, Spot’s eyes go wide at the sight of him, and he lets out this sad little sigh. “I’m fine, sweets.”

“Forgive me, but I don’t really believe that.”

“Albert!” Race calls. “Tell him I’m fine.”

Albert looks up from his book, which he’s settled back into on the couch since letting Spot into the room. “Strictly speaking, Racer, you’re still recovering. Ya got two broken fingers and a sprained wrist. Not to mention all the bruising.”

“You’re no help!”

“It’s not in my best interest to lie for you, man.” He goes back to his book.

Race scoots a little closer to Spot. “Okay, fine, so I’ve seen better days. And I’ve got a hell of a headache. But you didn’t have to come, I got plenty’a babysitters already.”

“I know, Race,” Spot says softly. He leans close and gives Race a gentle kiss on the cheek, then flicks him between the eyes. “Now where are your glasses, dumbass?”

Race lets out a high whine. “Nooooo!”

“Albert, where’s his glasses?” Spot calls over his shoulder.

“Bedside table, in the drawer.”

“Thanks, you’re a pal,” says Spot. He dives across Race, ignoring his indignant yelp, to retrieve them from the drawer. The glasses he finds there are, honestly, completely inoffensive – rectangular frames of silver metal, not too big or showy – but Race has always been resistant to wearing them. Not least because by the time he got them, there was already someone in his social group who’d been dubbed Specs (Spence Shipton, son of one of Mama’s council members, heavily nearsighted) for _his_ glasses, and he doesn’t want to make that weird.

Also, he’s stubborn.

“Spot,” says Race, “Spotty, no. I’m not wearing them.”

Spot hooks the glasses over Race’s ears with surprising care. Once they’re settled, he pulls away. “Your head will hurt less if you ain’t strainin’ your eyes all the time. Be reasonable for, like, ten seconds okay, baby?”

“Not my strong suit,” Race mumbles.

“No kidding, sweetness,” Spot says, laughing.

“Hey, Spotty? J’you know your eyes are, like, the prettiest golden brown?”

“You didn’t?”

“We don’t sit this close together very often,” says Race, ducking his head. “And I have a hard time with eyes, usually. I usually fix on a spot somewhere in the middle ‘cause I can’t look at both eyes at once, so I don’t always notice, like, colors and shit.”

“What do you mean, you can’t look at both eyes at once?” replies Spot, his brow furrowed.

Race blinks a few times. He shifts his gaze more directly onto Spot’s eyes, or rather, more directly onto his right eye. He relaxes a little, letting his eyes flick back and forth from one of Spot’s eyes to the other, like they always do when he tries to make direct eye contact.

“Oh, that’s weird. Why do you do that?” asks Spot.

“Couldn’t tell ya,” Race replies, shrugging. “It’s a little easier to focus with my glasses on, as much as I hate to admit it. M’pretty sure it’s got something to do with one eye bein’ stronger than the other, but I dunno. I just suffer most of the time.” He grins. “It drives Jackie crazy; says it’s distracting.”

Spot snorts. “You’re somethin’ else, sweetness.”

“You already knew this,” says Race. “I’m almost certain this is what you signed up for.”

“You’re a dumbass, too.”

“Yeah, I know.”

\--

Spot hangs around a few days, hovering around Race more than he cares to admit. It doesn’t do a lot for his tough guy reputation to fret too much, but at the end of the day he’d rather have the entire kingdom know he’s soft on this boy than let Race get away with this level of idiocy. And anyway, he’s _allowed_ to have a soft spot for Race. They’re getting married.

Race is healing, bruises steadily fading, and it’s all Spot can do to keep him from making things worse before he can get better.

“Why the hell do I put up with you?” Spot says, exasperated.

“Obligation,” says Race. He wiggles out of Spot’s grip. “Come on, sweets, I’m fine. I can handle a stroll through the gardens, it’s Albert approved.”

The redhead in question, who has been sitting nearby flicking idly through a medical textbook, gives him a thumbs up without looking at him.

“See?” Race pleads.

Spot sighs. “Yeah, okay. No funny business, though.”

“When have I ever engaged in ‘funny business’?”

“When have you _not_?” Spot says, waving a hand across Race’s still splinted fingers and wrapped wrist. “Lord, sweetness, I know I ain’t known you very long, but I do _know_ you.”

Some of the fight drains out of Race, and he leans into Spot a little, tucking his hand into Spot’s elbow. “Yeah, I know.”

“You gotta stop pulling shit like this,” Spot says as they walk. He guides Race out into the gardens, along a path they’ve walked together a few times before. “I know you’re usually pretty lucky, but one of these days you’re gonna get yourself killed. And _then_ how will I worm my way into the royal family?”

He squeezes his eyes shut tight. _Regret, regret, regret._ The last part slipped out on its own, unintentional. He has a bad habit of tacking sarcasm and jokes onto serious subjects, because god forbid someone figure out he actually _cares_. But he can’t give Race the out of thinking this is a joke.

“You scared the shit outta me, you know that?”

Race lets out a long, slow exhale. “I know, sweets.”

“I’m actually kinda looking forward to marrying you, dumbass,” says Spot, and he winces a little because he did it _again_. “So don’t go breakin’ your neck before I can do it.”

“I’ll try,” says Race. For his part, he looks like he’s actually caught onto the genuine sentiment. If he weren’t already in love with this man, Spot would marry him just for his innate ability to sort through Spot’s bullshit. “I really am sorry, Spot. I didn’t think it through and I was a little tipsy, and –“ He cuts off, rubbing the back of his neck with his free hand. “I’m tryin’ to get better about listening to Davey instead of Jack.”

“That’s a good call.”

Enough of berating his fiancé for his questionable life choices for now, it’s all he’s been doing for days. Spot casts around for a change of subject. “My sisters are coming in with me for the gala.”

“They are?” Race replies, excited. He’s been dying to meet the girls almost as much as they have to meet him. “All four?”

“All four,” Spot confirms. “I might regret it, though. Aisling and Fiona are little monsters.” He grins. “So you three’s gonna get along great.”

“Hey!” Race protests, but he’s laughing. “I’m sure it’s true, but _hey_.”

Spot laughs. There’s nobody in the world who can get Spot to laugh like Race can – even his sisters, who Spot loves dearly, can usually only coax a chuckle from him. He’s spent too much of his life cultivating his intimidating, tough guy persona to offset how small he is and make people take him seriously. Race, though. Race wormed his way through every wall Spot’s ever put up, and kicked his feet up on the metaphorical couch like he owns the place.

Race is easy – easy to be with, easy to laugh with, easy to get attached to. He’s just also a dumbass, and Spot has signed up to deal with that for the rest of his life – as long as they both shall live.

“Yeah, Ash an’ Finn are gonna love you,” Spot repeats once he catches his breath again.

“What about Maebh and Niamh?” Race asks. He’s still smiling, but his eyebrows are crinkling together in the middle. “They gonna like me?”

“Sure they are,” says Spot. “Mae’s got a head for math, and she’s dying to pick your brain. She and Nee are more likely to give you some BS speech about not hurtin’ me than the kiddos are, though.”

“Hurt you?” Race echoes, mock scandalized. “I could never!”

“Nah, you just hurt yourself instead.”

Race has the decency to look embarrassed at that. “Sorry, sweets.”

“S’alright,” says Spot, leaning up on tiptoe to kiss Race’s cheek. “I knew what I was signin’ up for.”

They walk for a while, and Spot gets Race going about some problem he’s trying to solve on one of his projects – partly because he loves seeing Race talk about his work, partly because he knows talking through his sticking points out loud usually helps Race figure out a solution – and settles into watching his fiancé chatter animatedly about engineering.

They both freeze as they round a corner and hear raised voices coming from the courtyard they were about to enter.

“- not a means to an _end_ , Elizabeth!” It’s Dave’s voice that filters through most clearly first, sounding more upset than Spot has ever heard him. “If you’re not interested in _me_ –“

“Of course I’m interested in you!” a female voice cuts in. “You’re just not the only appeal of, uh, you.”

Race looks at Spot, then tugs him forward, fully entering the courtyard. Spot finds himself a half-step behind his fiancé, and both of them come to a halt as they take in the scene. Dave is standing about five feet from a young woman with loose blonde curls, his hands in his pockets past the wrist. The girl is leaning toward him, frozen halfway through a sweeping hand gesture.

“Prince Anthony!” she says, one hand dropping to her side as the other comes up to play with the ends of her hair where it’s swept over her shoulder.

Dave just lets out a frustrated noise from the back of his throat.

“Is something wrong?” Race asks, eyes darting between the two of them. “We heard raised voices.”

“No,” says the girl, still playing with her hair. “Everything’s fine! David and I were just enjoying a nice stroll through the gardens.”

“Davey?” Spot says quietly. The older man turns toward him, with a harsh breath through his nose.

“I’m being used,” Dave says. It’s all he needs to say – between this and the little they overheard, Race and Spot can both fill in the rest.

“I think it’s time you leave, miss,” Race says coldly. “I’ll walk you to the doors.”

The girl either doesn’t catch Race’s tone or doesn’t care, because she practically swoons when he offers her his arm. Spot waits until they’re completely out of earshot before walking over to Dave.

“Hey, man, you okay?” Spot asks. He’s not entirely certain how well this will go over from him; he and Dave were friends when they were younger, but the older they’ve gotten the less they’ve seen each other.

“I’m fine,” Dave replies. He finally releases his hands from their angry pocket prison, sweeping them through his hair and thoroughly messing it up. “I just – I fucking _knew_. I always know, you know? Sarah and I have this sense about it, that’s why we’re always rejecting people off the bat y’know? Why let it go on for ages if we know they’re just in it for –“ he waves a hand in the direction Race and the girl had gone. “But Mom and Dad keep saying we have to _give people a shot_.”

Spot snorts. “Seems like they oughtta trust your instincts on that.”

“You’d think.” Dave’s voice is bitter, but he sounds less angry than before.

“You even want all that?” asks Spot. “Gals and marriage and shit?”

“No,” says Dave. “Quite frankly, I don’t. Sarah might, I – I don’t know. But I never have. I’m content with my life as it stands. Anything else is just complication.” He shrugs, looking up toward the castle. “I don’t think my parents’ll take that for an answer, though.”

Spot hums in agreement. “No, pro’lly not. Ain’t fair.”

“No,” agrees Dave. “It ain’t.”

\--

Spot goes home the next morning. He leaves Race in Albert’s capable, if occasionally slightly enabling, hands, with a promise to write soon.

Race hasn’t seen Davey since walking away with that girl yesterday. He’d deposited her at the castle doors, and flagged someone down to fetch her carriage. He knows Spot brought Davey inside, up to the suite he shares with his sister, and then Spot came down to Race’s rooms for a while. But now he’s gone, and Race is itching to do something or go somewhere.

“Al?”

“I ain’t gettin’ killed for you,” Albert says immediately. “So if you’re gonna ask if you can go doin’ something dumb now Spot’s gone, the answer’s no. He’ll know and he’ll murder me.”

“He’s a softie,” Race replies, waving a hand dismissively. “He wouldn’t actually kill you. Probably.” He frowns. “Man, you got boring when you started doctor lessons.”

Albert snorts. “Can’t get away with bein’ the kinda dumbass we were as teenagers when people are trusting you with their lives.”

“That’s – yeah, okay. How come Jack’s still a fuckin’ moron, then?”

“Jack ain’t king yet.”

“Anyway I wasn’t gonna ask to do something dumb,” says Race. “Do you know if Jack’s ungrounded yet? I wanna check on Davey, and I know they’ll be together.”

“S’wrong with Davey?” Albert asks, concerned.

“Another one’a his suitors went south yesterday,” replies Race. He rolls his shoulders a few times. “Girl openly admitted she was only in it for the connections, and you know how the twins are.”

“Davey’s almost as hopeless a romantic as you are,” Albert says, a look of pained sympathy on his face.

“And he’s already been swept off his feet by my stupid brother,” says Race. “Not that Jackie deserves him.”

“Ain’t how it works, Racer,” Albert replies.

“Yeah. Ain’t half fair though.” Race taps his fingertips against his thigh a few times. “So. Jack?”

“Restrictions lifted while your man was here,” answers Albert. “I’ve still gotta go with you, on account of your bad decision making skills.”

“That’s justified,” says Race.

They walk together from Race’s rooms down the hall and up the stairs to Katherine and Jack’s much larger suite. Race knocks on the door, having made the mistake of barging into Jack’s rooms one too many times to forget.

Katherine answers. “Hey, Racer. What’s up?”

“Dave here?”

“He is,” she replies, glancing back over her shoulder. “Got stung by another would-be suitor. He’s not in the best mood.”

“S’why I figured he’d be with you two,” Race says. “She was a pretty bad one, I made sure to let’er know she’s not welcome back here.”

Katherine smiles. “Thank you. Would you like to come in?”

“F’it’s not a bother,” says Race. “I wanted to check on him.”

“If it were a bother I wouldn’t have answered the door,” says Katherine. She leads Race and Albert into the room, and then settles back onto the small couch occupied by Jack and Davey. Race sits down, facing them, and Albert leans on the back of his chair. Race is surprised, for a moment, that Sarah isn’t with them, before remembering that she’d left the day after Spot arrived to bring Les home from school.

Davey has dark circles under his eyes, and doesn’t respond right away to Race and Albert’s presence. He looks tired – physically, obviously, but more than that he looks emotionally exhausted. He’s got his legs curled up on the couch with him, and he’s leaning heavily on Jack, who has his arms around him. There’s a dazed, slightly vacant look in his eyes that makes Race suspect he hasn’t really slept, like he’s only awake because he can’t remember how not to be.

Jack nudges Davey gently. “Hey, Dave. Race is here.”

“Hi, Race,” Davey says dully. “We’ve decided I’m giving up on romance.”

“Does it count as romance if you’re forced into it by your parents?” Race says, frowning sympathetically. He’d known Dave was teetering on the edge of falling apart under the pressure to marry from his parents, and it seems like this girl falling through so spectacularly is the straw that broke the camel’s back.

“Worked out for _you_.” Davey’s tone is sharp, but without any venom. He reaches blindly out to his left side for Katherine, who takes his hand. “And for these two.”

“We’ll figure something out for you, Davey-mine,” Jack says quietly, so quietly Race barely catches it. It’s just a murmur into Davey’s hair, not even really meant for Katherine to hear. For all Race jokes that Davey is too good for Jack, that Davey is better than whatever arrangement he has with him and Katherine, he knows that _this_ is why Davey’s still in it. Jack is boisterous and flirty and occasionally very dumb, but he loves so deeply. He loves his brothers and his mother – Race and Jack butt heads a lot, but there has never been a time in his life when he doubted how much his big brother loved him – and he loves his wife, and he loves his friends, and by god does he love Davey Jacobs.

“Isn’t that the problem, though?” mumbles Davey. “I’m _yours_.”

Katherine’s still holding his hand, and she uses her free hand to start rubbing his back in slow circles. Davey’s eyes squeeze shut, although the rest of him relaxes into her touch.

It’s odd to know that soon – maybe as soon as tomorrow – Davey will bounce back, and will probably pretend that this didn’t even happen. Davey is nothing if not a master of compartmentalizing and pretending everything is fine. Race can’t help but wonder if that’s why his parents keep pushing him to give these people chance after chance – they probably don’t even know how much it’s crushing him.

Race chews on his lower lip for a moment, thinking. It’s hard to see a friend hurt like this and know that there’s nothing he can do. He doesn’t want to stay much longer; he’s watching something deeply personal happening between David and Jack, not that either of them really notice him anymore.

Albert’s hand brushes against Race’s shoulder. Race looks up at him. He jerks his head back toward the door – he’s clearly on the same line of thought as Race. Race nods, carefully getting to his feet. He’s satisfied with having checked in on Davey, if not entirely happy with what he’s found. He nods to Katherine, who gives him a sad little smile in return.

Davey and Jack don’t even seem aware that anything outside of the two of them is happening, save maybe Katherine’s presence.

As Race and Albert leave, Race glances back over his shoulder at the tangle of limbs on the couch. It’s rare – very rare – that anybody really sees the depth of the Davey-Jack situation. They joke about it, sure, but there’s something real there. Jack loves Katherine, yeah, but it’s _Davey_.

“That was worse than I thought it was gonna be,” Albert says in a low voice once they’re in the hall. “I know he hates this whole setup thing, but that was –“

“He doesn’t like being used,” replies Race. “I mean, nobody would. But he’s so protective over us, an’ that’s not even accounting for how shitty it must feel to know somebody only wants to get with you to get after somebody else.”

Albert hums in agreement. “Fuckin’ sucks for Davey.”

“Fo’sure.”

\--

The Winter Gala is upon them before Race knows it. He’s more than a little nervous, not for the gala but for –

“Racer!” Spot calls. He doesn’t run down the hall to Race, because Spot Conlon doesn’t run for fucking _anybody_ , but his pace picks up a little when Race turns toward him. He’s flanked by two sisters on either side, all even shorter than he is. They’ve all got the same straight dark hair and clever brown eyes as he does, and even if Race didn’t know to expect the girls there’d be no doubting who they were.

“Spot!” Race greets, throwing his arms open to catch Spot in a hug when he and his sisters catch up to him. He gives his fiancé a quick kiss, nothing too dramatic since they have quite the audience.

“You’ve got your glasses on.”

“Yeah, well. They help. I hate to admit it, but they do.”

“That’s the point.” Spot laughs. “Alright, sweetness, you ready to meet the girls?”

“I don’t think I’ve got the option not to be at this point,” replies Race, grinning.

Spot spins on his heel to face his sisters. “Girls, meet my fiancé, Prince Anthony. Or, well. Race. You know.”

Race gives them an awkward little wave, another wave of nerves washing over him. What if they hate him? “Hello, Conlon ladies. It’s nice to finally meet you, I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“Likewise, Prince Anthony,” one of the two taller girls says.

“Call me Race, _please_ ,” says Race. “I mean it, nobody I like calls me Anthony.”

The second smallest sister laughs. “Like _Sean_ , here.”

“Exactly,” Race says. “S’why we’re perfect for each other, I reckon. You must be Fiona?”

“Sure am,” Fiona replies, holding her hand out for Race to shake.

“And you’re Aisling?” Race guesses, looking at the only Conlon sister smaller than Fiona.

“You betcha,” the little one responds. “You’re not gonna guess Niamh from Maebh, though.”

Race looks at the two taller sisters, who are both in their late teens and within two inches of each other in height. “No, I really don’t think I will.”

“I’m Niamh,” the slightly taller one says.

“And I’m Maebh,” the slightly shorter one adds.

“I’m so glad to finally meet all of you,” Race repeats. “Like, really. Spot can’t shut up about you.”

Spot smacks him lightly on the arm, but he’s grinning. There’s no pretending he doesn’t adore his sisters.

“C’mon,” Race continues, throwing an arm around Spot’s shoulders, “let’s go upstairs. I’ll show you where you’ll be staying while you’re with us, and if we’re lucky we should be able to catch both of my brothers before Jack has to go do Important Crown Prince Things.”

“That sounds lovely,” says Niamh. She takes Aisling’s hand, and nods for Race and Spot to lead the way.

Maebh comes up on the opposite side of Race from her brother. “Race, Spot tells me you’re something of an engineer.”

“Something of an engineer sounds pretty accurate,” Race says with a laugh.

“You’re working on the new bridge near our estate, right?” asks Maebh. “I’ve been watching the progress with great interest, and I have some _questions_.”

Race laughs again, delighted. He loves talking about his work, and he loves it even more when he’s talking to someone who actually understands what he’s saying. He offers her his arm so they can walk together. “What do you want to know?”

It doesn’t take long before he and Maebh are deep in a conversation about how bridges work, much to Spot’s completely unconcealed amusement. It makes the relatively short walk up to the guest wing pass quickly, though, and before Race knows it the six of them are standing between the doors to the two rooms the Conlon family will be staying in.

“A’right, you guys have these two,” Race says, waving toward each door in turn. He points to the nearer one. “We set that one up with a third bed so’s you wouldn’t have to use a third room if you didn’t wanna, since the next nearest room is down the hall a ways.” He rubs the back of his neck distractedly. “But if you want that we can do it no prob.”

“No, Racer, this is good,” Spot says. He shifts up onto his toes to peck Race on the cheek. “Ash, Finn, Mae.” He points to the room with three beds. “Me an’ Nee.” He points to the other room.

“ _Nooooo_ ,” Aisling whines, tugging on the side of Spot’s shirt. “Don’t make me share with Finn. Finn snores.”

“I do _not!”_ Fiona replies. “ _Ash_ talks in her sleep!”

Maebh just looks at Spot with pleading eyes. Race suppresses a laugh at the unspoken _don’t leave me with them._

“Stop,” Spot says, holding a hand up. Both of the younger girls fall silent. “You two are going to share because we’re going to send you up early from the party tomorrow, and I don’t want to risk waking you up.”

“But Maebh –“

“Will be with you,” Maebh finishes, her head tipping back as she sighs in defeat. “Because somebody’s got to make sure you actually go to bed. Why me?”

“Big sister privileges,” says Niamh, grinning. “And Spot can’t do it because he’s got to be a good date for his prince.” She winks at Race.

“Too true,” Race agrees. “Now, you gals want to meet the rest’a my family?”

The girls respond with a firm and excitable _yes_ , and Race catches a grateful smile over their heads from Spot.

Mama is probably busy with last minute arrangements and decision making, so Race aims for the common space he and his siblings share on the assumption that at least one of them would be there. He’s lucky – Charlie, Jack, Katherine, _and_ all three Jacobs kids are there.

“Manhattan family!” Race says, bounding into the room. “Drop what you’re doing, because I have something _awesome_ with me.”

“Cool it, Racer,” Spot says as he comes in at a more normal pace. He rests a hand at the small of Race’s back. “S’not that exciting.”

“Ex _cuse_ me,” says Race, “I’m just trying to express excitement about finally meeting my in-laws.”

Charlie, who was deep in conversation with Les Jacobs when Race came in, laughs. “You gotta learn to just roll with him when he’s like this, Spot, or you’ll just about die when you marry’im.”

Spot cracks a small smile at that. “He needs somebody to reign him in.”

“Okay, okay,” says Race. He waits as the four Conlon sisters come all the way into the room before continuing. “ _Guys_ , these are Spot’s sisters! That’s Niamh on the end,” he points to her, “with Aisling. And then Fiona, then Maebh.” He looks over at Davey. “Dave, you and Maebh should talk, she’s interested in the Brooklyn bridge project.”

Davey nods. “Happily. You’re taller than I remember, Maebh.”

“Aging does that, you know,” Maebh replies, but she’s smiling.

“Right, you guys know the Jacobses,” says Race.

“I doubt Fiona or Aisling remember much of us,” says Sarah, standing from the table where she and Katherine are midway through a chess game.

Aisling shrugs. At just scraping eleven, she has no strong urge yet to be polite for the sake of politeness. “Not really.”

“I’m Sarah,” Sarah says. She points at each of her brothers in turn. “That’s David, we’re twins. Everybody calls him Davey. And that’s Les. I think Les and Maebh are in school together?”

“We are,” Les confirms. He waves. “Heya, Mae.”

“Hi,” Maebh replies, smiling.

“Over there by the chessboard is Katherine,” Race jumps in, finishing introductions. “Princess Katherine, I guess, but we ain’t really formal here if nobody’s around. She’s married to my brother Jack –“ he gestures to his older brother, who is sprawled across a couch with his legs on Davey’s lap – “and that’s our younger brother Charlie with Les. He’s a little younger than you, Niamh.”

There’s a smattering of various greetings and _nice to meet you_ s, and then everyone generally settles back into what they were doing before. Race and the Conlons dig out a board game to play, which gets very heated very fast but is the most fun Race has had in ages.

\--

The ballroom is _gorgeous_. There’s been no sparkly decoration spared in the entire kingdom, it seems. Still, it doesn’t feel like too much. The large windows along the western wall have their curtains swept back, revealing the light dusting of snow that blew in last night.

“Mama, you’ve outdone yourself,” Race says, kissing his mother on the cheek. “It’s beautiful.”

“It really is, Queen Medda,” Spot agrees.

“Thank you, darlings,” Mama replies. “Now you boys have fun, you hear me?”

“We will definitely do our best,” says Race, smiling. “Within reason, of course.”

Mama smiles, shaking her head. “Go dance with your fiancé, kiddo. Show ‘im off.”

Race laughs at the flush that comes up in Spot’s cheeks at that, but he wastes no time in following her instructions. He takes Spot by the hand and pulls him out onto the dance floor.

He lets himself take in how god damned _lucky_ he is – not just because of the prince thing, or the big beautiful castle that can host big beautiful winter balls. Race had grown up with a romantic idea of falling in love _before_ he got engaged, and had put up more than a bit of a fight last spring when Jack approached him with the proposal from the Conlons.

And yet here he is, not even a year later, and he’s happy. He’s so, so happy. He’s holding onto Spot for dear life as they whirl around the dance floor, and he usually likes to lead when he dances with fellas but it’s easy, so easy, to let Spot guide him and just be.

“’Cha thinkin’ about, sweetness?” Spot asks, tapping his fingers against Race’s side to get his attention.

“You,” Race replies, unashamed. “How lucky I am that I got stuck with _you_ of all people. ‘Cause you may be grump, but you’re a softie underneath.” He leans in and kisses Spot gently. “And you balance all of – well, me. The energy and shit. Been thinkin’ about it a lot lately, with how Davey’s been.”

“He doin’ okay?” Spot asks, an edge of concern creeping into his tone.

Race shrugs a little. “Keeps tellin’ people he is. But he can be – he’s more stubborn than Jack, sometimes.” He exhales sharply. “I’m just so glad I got you, Spot.”

“Yeah, I don’t blame you,” says Spot.

Maebh and Les spin past them a little clumsily, and Race can see Charlie sitting by the side of the dance floor laughing at them. Race and Spot fall silent for a little while, both thinking and following the music where it takes them.

“I’m pretty lucky, too, you know,” Spot says eventually. “You’re a lot, sweetness, but you’re kinda exactly what I needed.”

“Sap.”

“Shaddup.”

“It’s cute that you match your sisters tonight,” Race says. Spot’s dressed in a deep red shirt with black pants, and all of his sisters are in red dresses with black accents.

“They really like you, you know,” Spot replies. “They’re excited you’re gonna be family.”

“I’m gonna be family,” echoes Race. “Shit, sweets, we’re getting _married_.”

Spot laughs. “Yeah, Racer, did’ja just figure that out?”

“Shut _up_ ,” says Race. He kisses Spot’s forehead anyway. “Let me be excited. Drink in the moment.”

“Yeah, yeah. Few months from now we’ll be at a party just like this, only we’ll be husbands at the end.”

“See, there you go.” He kisses Spot again. “We’re lucky. Future’s bright.”

“Sure is, sweetness. It sure is.”


End file.
